


Forget The Horror Here

by lockerghost (orphan_account)



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Post-EP5, Sacrifice Chloe Ending, Save Arcadia Bay Ending, a bit more poetically done, as if my heart didn't hurt enough, god damn it, i haven't cried so hard in years throw me off a cliff, pricefield, written to Spanish Sahara by Foals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 22:57:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5068093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/lockerghost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Chloe's sacrifice, Max revisits the junkyard and breaks down. All she has left is memories, reminders of what she's done, and the blue haired ghost in the back of her head. She considers going back and redoing everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forget The Horror Here

**Author's Note:**

> Foals - Spanish Sahara
> 
> Leave the horror here  
> Forget the horror here  
> Forget the horror here  
> Leave it all down here  
> It's future rust and it's future dust

Life is quiet without her.

Max never gets used to it.

She stands out of bed, her bones creaking and pulled down by a heavy weight that refuses to disappear. She showers, water nearly scalding in attempt to burn away the pain. She brushes her teeth. She gets dressed--the same clothes she had worn when everything began. They feel lax around her thin frame. She hasn’t been eating.  
She steps out of her room, keeping her eyes off the messages of sympathy scribbled on her whiteboard. ‘We’re sorry,’ they say. ‘There was nothing you could do.’ They don’t know.  
They don’t know that Max could have--would have--done everything.  
They don’t know it was all her fault.

When she arrives at the junkyard, a sense of emptiness settles. There is no Chloe there to mock her--to boss her around, tossing back her beer. There is no blue haired angel to save, to guide in her endeavors. There is no Chloe, because none of that had ever happened. She’s dead and gone, and the memories left are just fragments of a world that no longer exists to her.  
Max’s fingers kiss cold stone as she steps into the old hideout, with its draped sheets and timeless mementos. Everything sits still, untouched by the tragedy that never happened. The letter from Rachel still sits crumpled in the corner. Their game of darts sits unfinished. The bottle she never collected shines green in the pouring light. And finally, the words.  
‘CHLOE WAS HERE.’ ‘RACHEL WAS HERE.’  
Max takes a shaking breath, running her fingers over each letter, then lingering. Tears bite at her eyes, and she closes them. She imagines Chloe there, shining that Chloe smile at her, and doing what Chloe does. She imagines her happy and giggling along to whatever jokes she imagines Rachel would crack. She imagines her eyes, all blue and on fire, taking in the haze of early summer mornings. She imagines her alive. She imagines her breathing. She imagines her dancing on her bed, sunlight pouring out onto her grin as Max snaps one of many photos that no longer exist.  
She imagines loving her again, like she did so many times, as the world around them tears itself apart. She imagines not caring if the ground falls away beneath them, so long as they’re in eachother’s arms. And for an instant, it feels real.  
But then her eyes open.  
And she’s alone again. A wave of guilt washes over her, drowning.  
A broken sob topples from her chest, tears finally pouring out and spilling down her cheeks. She holds nothing in, pressing her back against the wall and collapsing. The dusty floor meets her with comfort of years long gone, and she curls in on herself until she’s sure she’ll disappear. Sobs wrack her thin, tired frame, as nonexistent memories flash through her head.  
Chloe in her old pickup, shouting for her to get in.  
Chloe in her room, moving to music loud enough to feel in her bones.  
Chloe at the lighthouse, staring wide-eyed as snow begins to fall.  
Chloe at the train tracks, holding Max’s hand as they both balance on the cool metal.  
Chloe in the Blackwell pool, all cool blue and searching eyes.  
Chloe in her room again, daring Max to kiss her--and bragging about it when Max does, hiding the blush in her cheeks.  
Chloe back in her truck, heartbroken over the shadow of a love she used to have, lips pressed tight.  
Chloe innocent again, making pancakes with her father.  
Chloe lying paralyzed in bed and begging Max to make those memories her last.  
Chloe finding Rachel’s body and shattering into pieces as Max holds her.  
Chloe falling to lie beside her buried ex lover, blood pooling around her head into a dark red halo.  
Chloe hearing Max’s confessions and not going to the party that ended her in another world.  
Chloe standing on the cliff where they watched the snow together, crying for Max to end her again. Crying for Max to sacrifice her in exchange for saving Arcadia Bay. Crying for Max to conclude what the world had been trying to do. Crying for Max to stop delaying her fate.  
“Chloe… I’m so, so sorry… I... I don’t want to do this.”  
The storm growls over every word.  
Chloe presses her cold lips to Max’s, holding onto her for everything she has. Holding because she doesn’t want to let go. Holding because she knows she’ll have to.  
“Max Caulfield? Don’t you forget about me…”  
“Never.”  
And then Chloe’s back in the bathroom, dying not having seen Max in years. Dying and thinking no one cares. Dying and blaming herself for her father’s death. Dying and hoping Rachel is still alive. Dying and feeling alone, bleeding out onto a cold tile floor.  
Dying. Dying. Dying. Gone.  
Max opens her eyes, her chest heaving with sobs.  
“I love you,” she says, a little too late. “I love you so fucking much.”  
The world is quiet.  
“I miss you.”  
No one answers.  
“This wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”  
Silence.  
“Chloe....” She chokes out, hands moving to tear at her hair in pain.  
Then her eyes catch a flash of familiar blue, and her heart stutters in irrational hope for that one, beautiful instant. But as the butterfly flutters through the window to sit on the scribbled letters above her head, her heart collapses again. She’s reminded of Chloe’s tattoo, all weaving vines, skulls, and shining blue butterflies--a representative of tragedy, and the sacrifice she made.  
Max shakily pushes to her feet, her sobs turning into pained whimpers and gasps.  
The butterfly doesn’t move.  
It sits there, proudly, on the word.  
‘CHLOE’.  
Max reaches into her bag, a heavy sense of repetition pushing down onto her lungs. She uncaps the black sharpie, and presses it to the wall, trying hard to keep her hand steady.  
‘MAX WAS HERE.’  
It feels right again, like it did before, and she reaches back to capture it. As the flash fades, she merely stands there, staring at the photo in her hand. It occurs to her that two of the people on the little list are gone, and she is the only one left.  
She opens her journal to slip the photo in--to save it for the years she’s to spend alone, without the one person she loves with all of her aching existence, and always will.  
A familiar photo catches her eye.  
The butterfly that now sits still in front of her, reflected off the inside of a janitor’s water bucket. Her chest jumps, and her mind goes into overdrive, tripping and tumbling over every little ‘what if’ she can muster. She must have picked it up after Chloe died.  
Her heart pushes against her ribs, beating fast and heavy in a tune of its own.  
‘I can do it,’ her mind echoes. ‘I can fix it. I can save her. I can help everyone. I can do it again. I can do it. I can save her. I just need to do it right.  
I can save her. Right?”  
She takes the photo out, and pushes her journal back into her bag. Her eyes jump from the butterfly on the wall to the one in her hand, blinking.  
Her spine shivers with familiarity, and her head floods with thoughts.  
But… Would Chloe want me to?  
She squeezes her eyes shut and clutches the photo to her still shaking chest. She knows the answer, and it hurts like hell to admit it.  
A faint whisper sounds from the back of her head…  
This is how it’s supposed to be.  
She flinches as her fingers tear the photo in two, opening her eyes to watch them drift sadly to the floor. There’s an almost audible sigh in her mind, and she’s unsure of whether it’s hers.  
“I love you,” she whimpers, again, before stepping out.

She walks on the train tracks where she saved Chloe again, that day.  
Her hand is empty, and she balances on her own.  
The butterfly follows, quiet and fluttering around her form.  
And as she begins to cry again, her tears staining her shirt, she smiles.  
She smiles because she knows Chloe’s with her.  
And she always will be.  
No matter what.  
She'll be the ghost in the back of her head.

**Author's Note:**

> 'Cause I am  
> I'm the fury in your head  
> I'm the fury in your bed  
> I'm the ghost in the back of your head  
> 'Cause I am
> 
> \---  
> Picture this is based on: http://i.imgur.com/nA1KiFV.jpg  
> \---  
> i'm sobbing someone punch me in the face


End file.
